Ducking Through Scandinavia

Gullfoss (the Golden Waterfall) provided us with a great place to take pictures of the glacial river Hvitá's long drop (11 meters and then another 21 meters of rushing, falling water) and to snack on granola bars (our version of lunch in Priceland). If the sun was shining, we could have seen a rainbow, but it wasn't and we didn't, and so we moved on to see the Great Geysir. The English word "geyser" is derived from the Icelandic word "geysir" which means gusher and all of the world's spouting hot springs are named after this one. The petulant Great Geysir was not in action that hour, but the nearby geyser Strokkur (The Churn) erupts every 5-7 minutes. If you time it just right and don't get distracted by a bit of sunshine that may suddenly appear behind you and wait for the big, blue bubble to appear at the mouth of Strokkur, you can catch its white column of boiling hot, sulfuric water that furiously shoots up as high as 20-30 meters.

On the way back to Reykjavik, we stopped at the 3000 year old explosion crater Kerió that is filled by a symmetrical green lake. We drove through the clouds along a mountainous path and Odin (yes, that was our guide's name) told us tales about trolls (apparently they like blueberries and dislike sunshine), the shortage – and shortness – of trees (Classic Icelandic Joke: What do you do if you are lost in an Icelandic forest? Stand up!) and golfers. Every town has a golf course because they are thought to be classy even though not many Icelanders play. Upon our return, we thought we'd try out the restaurant Pasta Basta for dinner and figured even Iceland couldn't get pasta wrong. Result: score negative two.

Day Four: Aloha, Iceland. Aloha, Denmark.

We had an early morning breakfast at Café Paris of smoked salmon (although at first, the waitress brought us some lamb; presumably, she heard "smoked lambon") that was very good and finally scored Iceland a positive point in the culinary ratings. Quick stops at Kaffitár for our last bit of award-winning coffee and croissants, at Hallgrímskirkja church that was built to resemble a jet of lava, and at our room to pack. We confirmed that the FlyBus that was to take us to the airport did accept credit cards (because at that point we didn't have two kroners to rub together) and bid adieu to Iceland and hello to Denmark.

Two and a half hours from the Reykjavik airport, we reached the Copenhagen Airport, the most anglophobic international airport I have ever seen. There were no signs in any language other than Danish, no easy-to-follow brochures or guides, and no complete maps or instructions that made it clear how to use the train and the new underground Metro system. Even pictures would have been nice. It was also quite strange that there was no customs line to go through, nor customs agent to whom I could have delivered the speech: Hello, Dread my lord, Your leave and favour to return to (Iceland); From whence though willingly I came to Denmark [Hamlet, Act I, Scene 2ish].

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